


Tell Me (What you Need)

by keyflight790



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Belts, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Daddy draco malfoy, Dom Draco Malfoy, Heavy BDSM, M/M, POV Harry Potter, Paddling, Rentboys, Spanking, Sub Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-01-31 13:56:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21447301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790
Summary: Even though Harry was paying for his Dom, there were limits; breaking points in which someone would refuse, no matter how many Galleons were pushed in their direction.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 25
Kudos: 361
Collections: Harry/Draco Owlpost 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarchnoGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarchnoGirl/gifts).

> Ale, sweet, amazing Ale, I was so happy to receive you as my giftee. Daddy kink is something I hold dear, and I loved your prompts and wishlist. I really hope you like this, and while there is no explicit sex, I think you'll still love the overall vibe of this fic.   
CHANGE: Ale, I have written two more chapters for you, so please stay tuned (subscribe) for those treats! 
> 
> Thank you to the mods for bringing this fest to life, and thank you to my betas C and G, and my alpha L, for all of your support on this fic!

Harry knew he shouldn’t. It had been too recent, too often. Too many owls to one specific address. Too many Galleons drained from his vault.

He wished he cared; or, more accurately, he wished he cared about the situation. He didn’t care about the money, or even the excessive amount of flights he’d sent his poor owl on. He certainly didn’t care about the marks on his calendar — the ones he made after he saw him.

A bit of Harry did care about who he was conversing with, and who he was hiring. 

More than a bit, if he was being honest.

His last owl had just listed a time. The recipient knew the place.

And he was always prompt.

A rap at his door. Hard. Three knocks. The only predictable moment of their entire evening.

“Malfoy,” Harry greeted. 

“Potter,” came Malfoy’s surly voice. The same one that, after months of conditioning, had Harry half-hard, his blood pumping in anticipation.

His heart was racing. This was a mistake. But he couldn’t resist.

Harry closed his eyes and took a breath. 

“Come in.” Harry opened his eyes and held his door wide, watching as Draco made himself at home. It always made Harry’s pulse quicken when he saw how easy it was for Draco to mould into his familiar surroundings. He settled on the couch, his arm outstretched easily, his legs crossed at the ankles. Like he belonged there. 

In Harry’s heart, he did. He belonged on his couch, and in his kitchen, and in his bed. But Draco was a professional. His own fortune was taken for war reparations, so he worked hard for his Galleons. Sometimes on his knees. 

Lately, he had Harry on his knees. 

It was the only time Harry felt like he could be himself, with Draco. And maybe it was the element of Draco himself — the one person in the world that didn’t praise Harry without reason — or maybe it was that he was paying for it, that even though he wasn’t _in charge_ he was still in control. Whatever it was, Harry found it liberating.

They fell into their easy rhythm. Harry left the envelope of Galleons on the side table, then left the room, allowing Draco to count it if he wanted. He wasn’t sure if he ever did.

Harry busied himself in the kitchen. He poured them both a cup of tea, Draco’s with heavy cream and a dash of sugar, and Harry’s black. By the time he walked back into the room, Draco would usually be sitting on a chair, or sometimes standing, with an array of toys on Harry’s coffee table or strewn over the floor at Draco’s feet.

Tonight, when Harry returned with tea, one in a crystal cup and one in Harry’s favourite mug, Draco was already positioned in the middle of the room. He stood tall in his tight leather trousers, chest bare, and the only thing at his feet was his belt, black and long and thin.

“On all fours,” Draco commanded, and Harry instantly dropped to the ground, mahogany floorboards hard under his knees. He set the cups on the table before placing his hands flat on the floor, his head lowered until his nose was pressing to the ground. 

Harry’s heart was racing. They had never started so quickly, or with so few instructions. Usually, Draco liked to tease Harry with every move he was going to perform, outlining each lick, each suck until Harry was blushing red and his cock was hard in his trousers. 

Tonight, however, Harry had no idea what was going to happen. And the thought of that, the unknown mystery of it all, made him mad with arousal. 

“This is the third time this week,” Draco called out, and while Harry couldn’t see him, he could tell Draco was pacing the room. Small slaps were echoing through the space, and Harry could only imagine that Draco was holding the leather belt, smacking it against his palm. “You may talk until I forbid it.”

“Yes.” Harry’s face flushed pink. 

“Is there a reason for that?”

“Yes,” Harry answered. The word was simple. The thoughts that were running through his head were not.

Like how he craved Draco’s touch, even while he was sitting in his office, or out in the field on a case. How at the end of a long workday, he wanted to talk to him, and tell him about the fear he saw in the little girl’s eyes as her house was destroyed by dark magic. How Draco would know just what to say when the Ministry invited him to yet another Gala, wanted to award him for his heroics, even though he felt like all he did was give up and try to die. 

And, in the middle of the night, when Cedric, and Fred and Tonks and Sirius and Lupin’s faces appeared in his dreams, how he wanted Draco to touch him, and hold him, and tell him it was alright. How he wanted Draco to sing to him and run his fingers through his hair until he fell asleep again.

“Why?” Draco asked, and Harry could see his leather boots in his peripherals. Draco was standing to his right, so close, and yet Harry knew he still wouldn’t be touched for quite a while.

“It’s been a...difficult week.” That was putting it lightly. Harry had spent two days in St. Mungos, after an artefact exploded within a small shop in Diagon Alley. He’d wasted three hours detangling a mass of spells from a former Voldemort-supporter's home, and had needed to file at least six different forms to explain why he chose to utilize another Expelliarmus on a dark wizard.

Draco shuffled from one foot to another as Harry turned his head to stare at the dark leather of his boots. 

“I think there’s something else, Potter.” Draco dropped the leather to the floor. “Something you need. Something you’re not asking for.”

There was. Something in the recesses of his mind, that he never let surface. Something that made him feel nauseous and weak. Something that he couldn’t even admit to Ron, let alone Hermione. Something he certainly couldn’t tell Draco. 

Even though he was paying for his Dom, there were limits; breaking points in which someone would refuse, no matter how many Galleons were pushed in their direction. 

Harry opened his mouth, wanting to deny that he needed anything. That was his usual response, because wanting, _needing,_ wasn’t really a luxury Harry let himself have. Living in a cupboard hadn’t given him the opportunity to yearn for things, like space and food and freedom. Being raised for sacrifice hadn’t exactly allowed him the advantages of peace and security. 

So he sealed his lips and kept his eyes focused on black leather and hardwood floors.

“Not answering when asked a question is unacceptable, Potter. I’m going to have to spank you for your disobedience.”

Harry shuddered. He didn’t want to anger Draco, but he still couldn’t voice his thoughts. His desires.

“Your choice,” Draco continued, the disappointment dripping from his voice. “Stand up, hands on the wall.”

Harry stood slowly, his head hanging down and his eyes still focused on the floor. He didn’t deserve to look at Draco directly. Not when he had failed at confessing his thoughts. Instead, he carefully made his way to the bare wall, the only expanse that wasn’t covered with pictures of his friends. He couldn’t bear to see smiling faces while he took his punishment. Harry braced his hands on the wall, and waited.

He felt Draco’s presence along his spine, his hard chest pressing into Harry’s back. His hands wrapped around Harry, pulling him closer. Draco’s fingers dipped below the hem of Harry’s jumper and danced their way up to his nipples. He rubbed against one with the pad of his thumb, and Harry let his eyes droop. He focused on Draco’s touch, warm and secure as he worked his hands over Harry’s chest, pebbling each hardening nub between his fingers. 

Harry’s breath quickened as Draco pulled off his jumper, letting it drop to the floor with a soft thud. It was unusual, the tender touch of Draco. In past punishments, Draco had made Harry strip, fast and utilitarian, not bothering to tease before the hardened slap of his beatings. 

However, this time Draco seemed to be teasing Harry as he undressed him, letting the palm of his hand press softly into the bulge in his trousers, rubbing slowly, before unbuttoning the top clasp. His hands dipped in and teased Harry through his pants, outlining the hard ridges of Harry’s interested cock, working up and down his length before circling over the tip. 

Harry bucked into his touch, and then forced himself to steady his hips. He didn’t want to move without permission, and he was already in so much trouble. Any additional infractions would surely stop whatever delicate position they were currently in. 

Draco worked Harry’s trousers down his thighs until they pooled around his ankles. Harry couldn’t help but groan when Draco’s long fingers stopped their sweet worship of Harry’s hard cock to grasp his arse, feeling the firmness within his grip.

“Your arse, Potter,” Draco growled, his voice so close to Harry’s ear. “I could worship your arse all day. It’s a shame I have to break it so.”

He shifted, letting his finger dive under the elastic of Harry’s pants. He pressed between his cleft, until he found Harry’s hole. “I’d taste you until your perfect arse was begging for my cock. Do you want that, pet?”

Harry nodded, and then whispered a desperate “Yes,” as Draco pressed into his hole. 

“Then tell me what you need.”

_Fuck._ He couldn’t. If he did, all of this, the touch, the smell of Draco, would disappear. He didn’t know what he’d do if it were all gone. He never should have let it get this far. But it was too late for that now.

He shook his head in defiance, and let it fall heavy between his shoulder blades, as he gripped the blank expanse of his wall with the tips of his fingers. 

“Disappointing.” Draco’s hand instantly retreated from Harry’s skin. Harry mourned the loss, before he heard the leather in Draco’s hand’s, sliding across his palm, the metal clinking as he folded his belt in half. 

_Thwap._ He felt the sharp impact of Draco’s belt across his backside. Harry only had a moment to grit his teeth before another smack fell, this time harder.

Draco kept up a steady pace, but the impact gradually increased in vigour. By the time Harry had counted ten spanks, his arse was burning hot, the sting rippling through his entire body. 

“I’ll stop if you tell me what you need.” Draco paused, spending the brief reprieve to rub tenderly at Harry’s skin. “I’ll give you what you want, anything you want. You just need to ask.”

Harry winced, his eyes still closed tight, his jaw sore from trying to bite back his whines. He knew as soon as he opened his mouth the word would spill, and Draco would run. It wasn’t worth the risk. He’d lose him eventually, but he couldn’t lose him that way.

“As you wish.” Harry heard the blissful sound of Draco’s belt falling to the floor, but he knew that it didn’t signal the end. In fact, Harry was less than surprised to see the large yellow paddle full of tiny holes, when it appeared in front of his eyesight.

Draco pushed the paddle towards Harry’s mouth. “Your least favourite toy, Potter. Imagine how much this is going to hurt across your tender arse. How much better my tongue would feel, soft and wet.” He paused, and Harry assumed he was waiting for him to break. But this was too much. It was worth the pain, if he got to keep Draco.

He did consider safewording, though. However, a part of Harry thought he deserved this. For paying for sex, for paying for a Dominant. For craving those dark desires. He deserved the pain, and most times he loved it. Most times when Draco’s palm was on his skin, he relished it, bucked into the pain, came in blinding orgasms.

Not from this punishment, though. Not from the paddle. 

“Worship it,” Draco commanded, as he pushed the wooden toy against Harry’s bottom lip. His mouth was still clenched closed, fearful that even the exhale of breath could confess his truth. However, not doing as told would make Harry a very bad boy indeed. And he didn’t want to make things worse. 

He pursed his lips, and barely kissed the tip of the paddle. 

“Again,” Draco commanded. “More, Potter.”

Harry breathed deeply through his nose and stuck his tongue out between his teeth. He dragged the tip of his tongue across the top of the wood, pitifully thanking the toy for his upcoming punishment. 

“The more you fight, the worse it’ll be. You know that, don’t you darling?” Draco loosened his grip on the paddle and it swung downwards, away from Harry’s face. He felt the rush, the speed of the wood as it drifted past his kneecaps, and Harry bit his lip.

He nodded slowly, his head falling even farther forward in surrender. 

“Very well.” Draco’s voice was dripping with disdain, and if that wasn’t enough for Harry to crack, he wasn’t sure what was. He had never refused so many orders in a row. He deserved whatever was to come.

Draco pushed the hard paddle flat into Harry’s tender arse, holding it there, letting Harry feel every gap and space in the wood. 

“You will no longer stay silent, Potter,” Draco ordered. “After each strike you will speak. Whether you choose to cry, or thank me, or safeword, I will let you choose. That is generous of me. Do not disappoint me any further.”

Harry nodded on instinct alone. His entire body was tight, trying to hold in the word he didn’t want to escape. He could handle the pain, he could handle anything Draco could give, but he couldn’t handle the despair his secret might bring. No, he couldn’t let that happen.

Except, he didn’t know that he’d have a choice. The first slap of unyielding wood had Harry bucking into the wall so fast that his glasses bumped and slid off his nose.

“_Fuck_” Harry cried out, as his eyes opened wide. His heart was racing, his fingers still clutching at nothing. His arse was on fire, and he knew he was nowhere near the end of pain.

Draco slapped the wood against his backside, again and again, only pausing long enough to let Harry cry out in pain. By the fifth strike, Harry was in tears, barely mouthing the profanities escaping his throat.

“We can stop any time,” Draco said, his voice soft and kind in Harry’s ear. “Just tell me, baby. Tell me what you want, I want to give you everything you need.”

“I can’t,” Harry breathed, his voice hoarse and his tears falling steadily, pooling above his upper lip and dropping to the floor. 

“Yes, you can,” Draco said, and Harry heard the shift of air before the paddle came crashing down again, across his tender skin.

“No!” Harry cried. 

“Yes, darling,” Draco said again, his voice hard and in control. The sting of the next slap spread across his backside in a stifling pain.

“No, no, please, no,” Harry whined, pressing into the wall as though it would hide him from the pain of his choices.

“Potter,” Draco said in warning, and let the hard wood smack against him once again.

He couldn’t take it anymore. It was too painful, biting back what he wanted to scream. He needed to release his confession just as much as he needed Draco to stop his punishment.

“Yes, fuck,” Harry whimpered. “Okay, yes.”

Draco immediately dropped the paddle, letting it clank to the floor. His hands found Harry’s tender skin and began to rub. His hands were cold, the balm in his palms instantly cooling Harry’s burning skin. 

Harry closed his eyes, trying to stop the tears that were flowing so freely. If only his words could flow, open and honest. 

“Do you want to tell me?” Draco asked. 

Harry nodded. He sniffled, and then exhaled a deep breath. Finally, he let out a soft “Yes.”

Draco sighed, and then pulled Harry off the wall. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, tucking Harry’s head under his chin. “Yes, what, Harry?”

Harry knew he was prompting for _Sir_, but Harry couldn’t hold it back anymore. Not when Draco was holding him so close, so tight. Not when Draco was calling him Harry.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Harry thought the second the word came out that Draco would unwrap him from the safety of his arms, head to the Floo, and disappear in a burst of flames. Instead, he felt Draco release a breath, hard and hot against Harry’s ear.

“You’ve been holding that in, haven’t you, baby boy?” Draco’s arms wrapped tighter around him. His fingers gripped into Harry’s hips as he started to sway, rocking them both slowly from side to side.

“Yes, Daddy,” Harry murmured into Draco’s bare chest. He felt so safe, warm, and comforted in that instant. He wanted to thank Draco, for not running, for showing up at all. Harry snuggled into Draco’s chest to stop himself from dropping to his knees right then, to show Draco how well he could worship his boots, his leather trousers, his cock.

How much Harry wanted to show his daddy how much of a good boy he could be.

“I’m so proud of you,” Draco whispered into Harry’s ear. He slid his long fingers into Harry’s hand and walked them over to the sofa. Draco sat, spreading his legs wide so that Harry could rest his sore arse in the opening. He settled himself in Draco’s lap and rested his forehead against Draco’s skin.

“Why am I like this?” Harry said, and he found himself choking back tears, his eyes tired from his previous sobs.

“Why are any of us like this?” Draco cupped his chin with his palm. “We are who we are, we need what we need.”

Harry sniffled as Draco wiped the tears off his cheek with the pad of his thumb. 

“Now, close your eyes, baby boy. Your Daddy has you, you’re safe.”

He wrapped his hands around Harry, and Harry focused on his deep breaths, the rise and fall of his chest. At some point, his eyes drooped closed and he drifted off into a heavy sleep.

He awoke alone, spread out on the sofa, with his old Gryffindor blanket wrapped around him. His glasses were tucked into his hand, and Harry blinked his eyes open a few times before donning the black frames. 

“What happened,” he said to the darkness, and he was very surprised when the darkness responded.

“You fell asleep, so I, eh, tucked you in.” Draco’s voice was low and soft, but so very far away. Harry squinted, trying to see into the blackness for any silhouette.

He turned his body on the thin sofa to face the fireplace, which was barely crackling with the hint of a fire. “Thank you,” Harry said, startled by how hoarse his throat felt when he spoke. “And… thank you for not leaving.”

“I wouldn’t,” Draco said, his voice closer than before. “I needed to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said. He coughed, trying to clear his throat, but it didn’t help. He didn’t remember screaming, but he must have. 

“Good.” Draco was now in view, a dark shadow in an even darker room. “I’ll go then.”

“You don’t have to.” Harry stretched out his hand, reached for Draco in the darkness. “You can stay. Would you…” The night’s events came rushing back to him in full force. How he was spanked, first by Draco’s belt, and then by the horrid paddle. How he begged and cried. How he finally spilt the word he had promised himself not to say. 

He clenched his eyes closed, hoping it had all been a dream, but it hadn’t. He had said it and now Draco was leaving. 

His worst fears were coming true, and he couldn’t let it happen.

“_Wouldyoupleasestay?_” Harry let out in a whoosh of air. He knew if he didn’t say it right then, he’d hold those words back, just like before. And he was tired of holding anything back. 

Draco’s eyes dropped to Harry’s outstretched hand. Harry held his breath, waiting, hoping. 

“You can’t afford me, Potter.”

“I can. The key to my vault is in my bedside drawer. Take it. All the Galleons. Take everything. Just don’t leave.”

Harry knew how desperate he sounded, but he was past caring. He wanted this, needed it, and after what he had gone through that night, he knew he could have it. They could have it all.

Finally, after what felt like aching hours but was probably only seconds, Draco took Harry’s hand. 

“You want to pay me to be your Daddy?” 

Harry sighed, and threaded his fingers into Draco’s. “I want you to be my Daddy. Regardless of whether I’m paying you or not.”

“You’re coming down, Potter. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Harry gripped Draco’s hand. “I know exactly what I’m asking for. And if you don’t believe me, ask me again. In the morning, over breakfast.”

While Draco contemplated his options, Harry held his breath.

Draco eventually squeezed Harry’s hand back.

“Fine, Potter, but if I’m going to sleep in this hovel, it will be in a comfortable bed. Now come, let’s tuck you in.” Draco pulled Harry off of his sofa, and Harry led them to his room. Draco fussed with the pillows, and pulled off his socks before settling himself, stretched out across Harry’s sheets. 

With a flick of his wrist and an incantation under his breath, Draco Summoned the comforter from the floor, and pulled it over his and Harry’s form. He wrapped himself around Harry, tucking his head under his chin.

“Sleep well, baby boy, and we’ll figure it out in the morning.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy!Draco and BabyBoy!Harry figure out their new relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for my beautiful friend, Ale, who deserves all of the kinky, lovely fluffy and soft (and hard!) fic, I started writing this for you a year ago, darling, and I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to add to it. 
> 
> For those reading along, the next chap is kinky AF and will hopefully be posting as an xmas gift for the aforementioned Ale. So stay tuned!
> 
> Betaed by the wonderful assassinsdragons and crimsonheadache, thank you both!!!

The first thing Harry noticed when he woke up was the heat of someone’s breath, puffs of air against the back of his neck. He instantly stiffened, reaching for the comfort of his wand on his nightstand, his Auror training kicking in instinctively. 

Before he could grab his wand, however, the puffs turned into a low growl as long fingers wrapped tightly around his waist. 

“Too early, Potter,” Draco mumbled, his lips grazing the fine hairs on the back of Harry’s neck as he spoke.

Draco was there. In his bed. He had stayed.

Even after what Harry confessed last night. Even after Harry had called him Daddy. Even after he offered the entirety of his…

Right. Draco was expecting to be properly compensated for his time in Harry’s flat. Considering the usual rate that he owled after their sessions, Harry quickly calculated the mounds of Galleons he now owed Draco. It was nearing four digits, and while Harry knew there was a large amount sitting at Gringotts, he would more than willingly hand over to the blond in his bed; he also knew that quantity of gold was not currently residing in his home.

“I, erm...coffee?” he spat out, eagerly wanting to blame the caffeine for his reason to leave his flat quickly. 

Draco groaned, his arms only wrapping further around Harry’s stomach. His hips bumped into Harry’s backside, which lit up with the sharp reminder of the previous evening. “Promised me breakfast.”

“I’ll grab some scones as well,” Harry said, pulling himself rapidly from the sheets. He didn’t turn around, not wanting to take the risk of making eye contact with Draco. Not wanting Draco to know how much pain he was in at the moment; not just from the reddened stripes across his backside, but from the stark embarrassment of his confessions the night previously.

He exited out the front door, barely taking the time to knot his trainers and ignoring the calls from his bedroom. Harry twisted with a pop and found himself immediately outside the brick entrance to Diagon Alley. He withdrew the money quickly, avoiding the eyes of the Goblin as he pulled ten times more coins out than he particularly needed. The small bag in his pocket was clinking and bulging throughout the entire walk to the coffee shoppe, and by the time he Apparated home, Harry was more than ready to dispose of the haul. 

Draco sat at his tiny dining room table, hair ruffled and looking softer than Harry had ever seen him. He placed the coffee cups carefully on the wooden surface, along with the bag full of biscuits, scones and jams. The mokeskin pouch clammored loudly as it fell out of his pocket, and Draco immediately reached for it. 

“Did you grab any honey or strawb…” His words cut off short as he peeked into the bag. “Merlin, Potter, there are at least 5,000 Galleons in here!”

“Ten, actually,” Harry responded, reaching awkwardly for a scone. 

“And why do you have 10,000 Galleons?”

“Well,” Harry slathered his scone with blueberry jam and quickly shoved it in his mouth, hoping it would give him at least half a minute to gather his thoughts. The scone had different plans, however, practically melting into a buttery morsel as soon as it touched his tongue. “I was...let me know if it isn’t enough for at least…”

“Oh,” Draco nodded in understanding. “When you said the entirety of your vault, I didn’t think it was so paltry.” His face scrunched in a look of disgust Harry was more than familiar with. 

“There’s more!” Harry practically shouted. “If it’s not enough I can get more?”

Draco tapped his fingers on the table, his eyes cast to the wall. A picture of Neville with his prize-winning tentacula waved back. “And how long did you want to compensate me for this arrangement?”

_ Forever, _ Harry bit back. “Two weeks?”

Something flickered across Draco’s face before it returned to its previous state. “A longer relationship requires a contract, Potter.” He sighed before picking up his scone once more and wrapping it into a napkin. “I’ll owl over the paperwork, and we can begin negotiations.” Placing the pastry into his pocket, Draco turned towards the door. “I have a few loose ends to tie up as well. If the paperwork is executed, we can begin tomorrow morning.” 

\--

Sure enough, Harry had a stack of papers delivered to his desk by lunch. He quickly glanced around, making sure no one could read the contents before turning over the first page. It then took him a moment to realise that he, himself, couldn’t read the contents either. 

“What the fuck?” Harry questioned the illegible paper, and then watched in awe as the letters flew around before settling in their correct order.

_ For the eyes of Harry James Potter and Draco Lucius Abraxus Malfoy only: _

The following pages outlined everything, from the required linens and hair potions that Harry had to stock, all the way to a list of toys and clothing Harry had to acquire for his stay. The secondary section had their lists of hard and soft limits, as well as boundaries, which Harry recognized from his initial intake form with Draco’s agency. However, a new page had been added, and Harry’s skin broke out in goosebumps as he studied the new outline.

_ Daddy/Boy Agreement _ was scrawled across the top of the page, and as Harry skimmed the sheet his cock began to take quite an interest in the required reading. Harry made a few scratches across the page, checking boxes and adding in notes in the margins until he was at the end of the page, his cock hard and aching and begging to be touched. 

He knew he could lock his door, lean back in his chair and stroke himself until he was coming into his fist with Draco’s name on his tongue, but there was one question left on the sheet that made him refrain.

_ “Do you consent to only coming with your Daddy’s permission?” _ the last question read, and with a final arc of his pen, Harry checked ‘yes’. 

\--

Harry busied himself with other types of paperwork throughout the afternoon and breathed a sigh of relief when the clock in his office finally marked close. The shops were open later on Fridays, but Harry was still worried he wouldn’t have enough time to adorn his Glamour and gather all of the necessary supplies required for Draco’s extended visit. Harry left the last shop in Knockturn just as the clock struck 9pm, Apparated home, and took the time to organize his new purchases with a bowl of bolognese. He went to bed that night, belly full and cock hard, knowing that in the morning, his Daddy would be arriving to play. 

He slept restlessly that night, his mind wandering to all of the words outlined in their contract, and when Harry did finally fall asleep, he only dreamt of death. Cedric smiled at him, holding the Triwizard Trophy in one hand while Harry grasped the other, his eyes full of pride for his house and his family, until they blinked into emptiness. 

A hard three knocks woke him from his nightmare, and Harry hurried to the door, raking his hand through his hair. 

“Come in,” he said, his voice suddenly shaky at the vision of Draco Malfoy on his doorstep. The sun was shining brightly behind his silhouette, a stark contrast to when he normally arrived at dusk after one of Harry’s owled requests. “Tea?” he asked, hoping that his voice would sound stronger and less like he just awoke from horrible dreams.

“Please,” Draco nodded before stepping over the threshold. Harry busied himself in the kitchen, not sure what he would walk back into. Most of their appointments had been at night, the expectations to scene and find release, but now Draco was to be in his home for the entirety of two weeks. Would they play so quickly or settle into things? Would Draco have him on his knees by lunch or make him wait all day until he could call him the word that’d been swimming through his head for so long?

When he returned, the teacups clattering against their little plates, he was surprised to see Draco still standing in his entryway, looking less than confident.

“Potter,” he started, reaching for his cup of tea out of Harry’s trembling hands. “I consented to a two-week BDSM relationship with additional levels of big/little play, but…” Draco paused to take a sip and pierce his gaze directly into Harry’s own. “Would you like our play to be of the 24-7 variety, or on and off throughout the weeks?”

Harry busied himself with his tea, wincing at how hot it was on his tongue, and tried to ignore the flush that was burning his cheeks. He wanted Draco all day, all night, holding him and talking to him, and listening, and being a part of his life. He wanted a Daddy as well, of course, and all of the things that went with their current arrangement, but Harry wanted Draco there at the core of it, Harry wanted Draco there. He needed him there.

“What would you prefer?” he asked, tearing his eyes away from grey. 

“I want to hear your wants, Potter, not my own.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you.” Harry spit out before filling his mouth once more with hot, bitter water. The thought of letting someone down, letting Draco down, made his stomach turn. 

Draco inhaled deeply, before setting down his tea and pulling Harry into his arms. “Oh, little one, that’s not even possible.”

It was possible, however. Harry had let down so many; Dumbledore, Sirius, Lupin and Tonks, even now he knew he should be spending the Saturday with Teddy, making sure he knew he was loved and cared for and wanted, instead of focusing on his own wants and needs.

How could someone who he used to fight with, used to tortchure and loathe, say that Harry couldn’t let him down, when all Harry did was fail?

Draco quickly pulled them to the couch, tugging Harry into his lap and wrapping his arms tightly around Harry. “I want you to listen carefully. I am here for you. To be in whatever capacity you need me to be.”

“Because I’m paying you,” Harry blurted, shocking himself with his bluntness.

The arms around his waist stiffened, but after a moment, relaxed once again. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, Potter.”

“But-”

“Shh,” Draco tilted his head, so his lips pressed into Harry’s hair. His thumb moved in gentle circles across Harry’s stomach, and Harry slowly felt the tension leave his shoulders as Draco held him in his arms. “We’ll talk more after lunch, but it seems as if you need your daddy right now. Is that right, kitten?”

Harry exhaled in a huff, melting even further into Draco’s comforting form. “Yes, Daddy,” he responded, this time without hesitation. His daddy made it so easy to let everything else fall away; the weight of his responsibilities lifted off of his shoulders. He could just relax at that moment, knowing he was safe and protected.

“Do you want to go change, baby boy?”

The thought of putting on his  _ outfit _ , the one that Draco had let him pick out specifically for their play, made Harry both nervous and excited. However, he didn’t want to leave the safe space of the sofa, with his daddy’s arms around him in order to do so.

“Would you like Daddy to go fetch your new clothes instead?” his daddy asked when Harry hesitated to move.

“Yes, please,” Harry nodded into the bare skin of his daddy's chest. An incantation was murmured, and within moments a black bag rested at the foot of the sofa. 

“Lean back.”

Harry regretfully twisted himself out of the warm, comforting arms surrounding him, only to have his crumpled shirt tugged gently over his head. There wasn’t a shirt to replace it in his bag; Harry had opted to keep his chest bare, hoping to feel more of his daddy’s skin as they played. He had, however, carefully picked out tight olive green shorts, knowing the colour would look great against his skin tone, along with knee socks, the kind that sat right below his kneecaps and had matching green stripes crossing the top seam.

His daddy took his time dressing him in his knee-highs, rubbing the ball of Harry’s foot before squeezing each toe affectionately. He slipped Harry’s foot into the soft cotton, taking his time to pull the cotton taut until it clinched onto Harry’s thigh, tracing the stripe with his long fingers. 

“Stand and turn around so that daddy can put on your knickers, baby.” The words were breathed into Harry’s ear, so comforting, with a bite of heat that made Harry harden in his pants. He uncoiled himself from the soft lap and stood to face a wall covered in pictures of his family and friends waving back at him. 

He felt a small wave of embarrassment as he tugged off his plain black pants to adorn the soft green ones he purchased at a sex shop in the darkened corner of an alley, but the voice behind him reminded Harry that he was in a safe space. He needn’t worry about anything, especially his insecurities; not when he was with his daddy.

“Hold onto me while you step into these, my beautiful boy.”

Harry complied, resting his weight on muscular forearms as he carefully stepped into the openings of his new knickers. Nimble fingers pulled them carefully up his legs, and when the cloth was situated around Harry’s waist, he heard his daddy gasp.

“Is this slit for me?”

Harry nodded, not wanting to turn around and expose the blush darkening his cheeks. That was another reason Harry had chosen the knickers in particular. The back split open, exposing him for anything his daddy would want to provide. Whether it was the warm impact of his palm, the heat of his breath, the wetness of his tongue, or the hardened tip of his burgeoning cock.

Harry’s cock was hard, pressing against the green fabric, the tip peeking out of the hem. He wouldn’t touch it without permission, wouldn’t come without permission either, but it delighted him to feel the pressure against his aching cock. To know that he was going to be taken care of.

For two whole weeks.


End file.
